


Want You (To Feel Fine)

by Leoporidae_Lagomorpha



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DWSA - Freeform, Deaf Character, Deaf West, First Kiss, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 20:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14433552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leoporidae_Lagomorpha/pseuds/Leoporidae_Lagomorpha
Summary: He’d meant to resist, to protest when Melchior suggested they catch up, to reject the offer to go up the stairs that led to the other boy’s bedroom but he didn’t, seduced by nothing but a smile and the promise of some kind of intimate familiarity. They’ve done this before. How is this any different? Well Moritz can’t really remember ever being this sweaty, or so distracted by the way Melchior’s clever fingers move through the air, can't help but wonder what they'd feel like running across his skin.





	Want You (To Feel Fine)

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written any sort of fanwork in years. I'd like to thank the Moritz to my Melchior for inspiring this piece and the whole modern AU it belongs to.
> 
>  
> 
> _signing is in italics_

Moritz is sitting crosslegged by Melchior’s bed, trying and failing not to pull at the hem of his faded grey sweatshirt but he can’t help it, not when it’s all so awkward.

It hasn’t always been. Before they both turned fifteen, before his grades started going to shit, and Ilse Neumann dropped out and Melchior got shipped off to reform school. It wasn’t awkward at all, but they were much younger then and also Moritz hadn’t been as acutely aware of how painfully, miserably, hopelessly in love he is with his best friend. And perhaps that had really been for the best, Moritz has always been, in Melchior’s words, ‘a bit of a late bloomer’ and knowing the true extent of his not-so-platonic admiration would have been utterly mortifying to the uncomfortably hormonal and overwhelmed Moritz Stiefel of yore. Months of sleepless nights, waking up sweaty and sticky, making a mess of his sheets, the shameful stumble to the bathroom the morning after. His dreams back then had been haunting, but then there’d been Melchior and _The Art of Sleeping With_ and those vague fantasies of stocking clad legs couldn’t hold a candle to the visions his mind now sparked forth. He’d been sixteen the first time he dreamt that breasts and soft curves were replaced with sharp angles, a flat chest, jutting hipbones and a cocky grin. He’d flailed awake, a sickly mix of panic and shame and quickly fading heat, the mess in his pyjamas drying tacky against his skin. Those nightmares had been damning enough without starring his best friend. His undeniably absent best friend.

Moritz had resigned himself to never really having to deal with his newfound attraction (infatuation?). It’s really a testament to his bad luck that not a month later he finds none other than a certain Melchior Gabor waving at him from the train platform, looking slightly worse for wear, his designer shades pushed up in his hair, dark circles beneath his eyes, waving like he hadn’t left Moritz and dropped off the face of the earth for an entire year. Moritz hadn’t wanted to forgive him but then he’d felt those pale arms wrapping him into a hug and the soft linen of Melchior’s shirt against his face, smelling of spice and tobacco and whatever reluctance Moritz had been flirting with dissolved. He’d meant to resist, to protest when Melchior suggested they catch up, to reject the offer to go up the stairs that led to the other boy’s bedroom but he didn’t, seduced by nothing but a smile and the promise of some kind of intimate familiarity. They’ve done this before. How is this any different? Well Moritz can’t really remember ever being this sweaty, or so distracted by the way Melchior’s clever fingers move through the air, can't help but wonder what they'd feel like running across his skin.

A hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his thoughts.

“ _You okay?_ ” Melchior signs.

“ _I’m fine. I was just,”_ he fumbles, the lingering heat of Melchior’s touch through his clothes makes his palms sweaty and his fingers slip as he signs.

“Lost again?” Melchior asks aloud brow arched in that knowing way of his.

“ _Something like that,_ ” he shrugs stiffly.

“ _You sure you don’t want to sit on the bed_?”

Moritz can’t shake his head fast enough.

Melchior doesn’t waste any time, sliding down onto the floor in front ofhim. 

“ _I’m tired of having to look down to talk,_ ” he offers in explanation.

Moritz chews his lower lip and tries not to shiver when their legs brush. The same way he tries not to stare at Melchior’s collarbones, or his wrists, or the pink flash of his tongue when he speaks.

“ _Moritz…”_ Melchior sighs leaning closer, too close. They’re touching now, knees overlapping.

“ _I should really-“_ He doesn’t get to finish that thought before Melchior shushes him.

“ _Did you know that you stare?”_ Melchior whispers, and Moritz knows it was a whisper because of how soft Melchior’s breath felt across his face, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the icy feeling spreading in his guts.

“ _Sorry.”_ He says because what else are you supposed to say when all you want is to be able to go back in time and stop yourself from ever being born in the first place.

_“Don’t be. I like it.”_

Moritz isn’t sure what kind of undignified sound he makes at this particular revelation but he feels it leave his throat, watches as Melchior’s eyes go dark.

_“I like you, Moritz.”_

Even seeing them he can hardly believe the words at all and far from the first time he wishes he didn’t always seize up like this. Wishes he was as good at speaking his mind as Melchior, or even charming like Hanschen. But he isn’t so he doesn't do any of that, instead he just voices the first frantic question that burst from him.

_“What are you saying?”_ He signs, hands spurred to life by the panic squeezing the air from his lungs.

_“I’m saying I want to do things like this,”_ Melchior tells him, one hand coming up to cup his cheek and gently trace the line of his jaw.

_“What else?”_ He asks, far bolder than he feels.

_“This,”_ Melchior says bringing a thumb to rest against the corner of his mouth. Whatever mood possessed Moritz to follow his friend upstairs urges him to open his mouth and let the pad of Melchior’s thumb catch against his parted lips. And he can feel the twitch of Melchior inching impossibly closer.

_“Just that?”_ He asks feeling like he’s run up a flight of stairs.

_“I’d like to kiss you.”_ He answers, and if Moritz just leaned in they could. Maybe.

“ _Please.”_ He says.

It’s all it takes. Melchior surges forward and their lips finally meet. It’s awkward at first, the angle is a little off and Moritz is acutely aware of how dry his lips are before he isn’t anymore because Melchior’s adjusted the angle so that it isn’t as weird and _oh_. Moritz feels like this might be his favourite thing except it isn’t for very long because suddenly Melchior isn’t just kissing him, he’s tangling his finger in his hair, running his hand along his shoulders, pulling him closer. It’s hard with all that to remember to kiss back but Moritz does somehow, lips moving of their own accord, chasing down the distance between them again and again and this has got to be his favourite thing yet.When they finally part, both breathless, Melchior beams at him and it takes a moment for Moritz’s embarrassment to catch up with the fact that the taller teen is practically sitting in his lap and he blushes furiously.

_“For the record,”_ he signs, flushed cheeks staining an even darker shade of red, “ _I like you too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> As usual kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
